Blackadder Meets HP: Captain Cook
by Juniper Baggant
Summary: The Great War rages on and Draco Malfoy is desperate to get out of the trenches. Will he be able to or is he going to be faced with yet another excuse to get his brains blown out for wizarding kind? Featuring Bitter!Draco.


Blackadder Meets HP: Captain Cook

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DISCLAIMER: Based on the HP books by J.K. Rowling and the 'Captain Cook' episode from Blackadder Goes Forth. No money is being made and no copyrights are being infringed.

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Scene 1: Draco Malfoy's Dugout

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(The dugout. Captain Draco Malfoy is sitting in a chair reading a book. Lt. Vincent Crabbe enters.)

Crabbe: Tally-ho, pip-pip and Bernard's your uncle.

Malfoy: In English we say, "Good Morning".

Crabbe: Look what I got for you, Sir.

Malfoy: What?

Crabbe: It's the latest issue of "The Daily Prophet". Oh, damn inspiring stuff; the newspaper that tells the troops the truth about the war.

Malfoy: Or alternatively, the greatest work of fiction since vows of fidelity were included in the French marriage service. (Flicks through paper.)

Crabbe: Come, come, Sir, now. You can't deny that this fine newspaper is good for the morale of the men.

Malfoy: Certainly not, I just think that more could be achieved by giving them some real toilet paper. (Hands paper back to Crabbe.)

Crabbe: Not with you at all, Sir, what could any patriotic chap have against this magnificent mag?

Malfoy: Apart from his bottom?

Crabbe: Yes.

Malfoy: Well look at it. (Takes the paper again.) I mean the stuff's about as convincing as Professor Trelawney's predictions. The Ministry Wizards are all portrayed as six foot six with biceps the size of a dragon's.

Crabbe: Thoroughly inspiring stuff. And look, Sir, this also arrived for you this morning. (Hands package to Malfoy.)

Malfoy: (Opens package, taking out a wand.) Hmm, do you know what this is, Lieutenant?

Crabbe: It's a good old wand.

Malfoy: Wrong. It's a brand new wand, which I've suspiciously been sent without asking for. I smell something fishy, and I'm not talking about the contents of Goyle's apple crumble.

Crabbe: That's funny, Sir, because we didn't order those new trench-climbing ladders either.

Malfoy: New ladders?

Crabbe: Yeah, came yesterday. I issued them to the men, and they were absolutely thrilled. (Calls to Private Gregory Goyle.) Isn't that right men?

Goyle: (From the doorway.) Yes, Sir, first solid fuel we've had since we burned the cat.

Malfoy: Something's going on, and I think I can make an educated guess what it is. Something which, you, Crabbe, would find hard to do. (They go outside into the trench.)

Scene 2: In the Trench

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Crabbe: Ah, true, true. When I was at school my dad always said, education could go hang as long as a boy could hit a few bludgers, sing the school song very loud, and take a hot crumpet from behind without blubbing.

Malfoy: I, on the other hand, am a fully rounded human being with a degree from the university of life, a diploma from the school of hard knocks, and three gold stars from the kindergarten of getting the shit kicked out of me. And my instincts lead me to deduce that we are at last about to go over the top. (Peers over the top of the trench with a periscope.)

Crabbe: Great Scott, Sir, you mean, you mean the moment's finally arrived for us to give the Death Eater's a darned good Hogwart's style thrashing, six of the best, trousers down?

Malfoy: If you mean, "Are we all going to get killed?" Then, yes. Clearly, Field Marshal Dumbledore is about to make yet another gargantuan effort to move his drinks cabinet six inches closer to the South.

Crabbe: Right! Bravo-issimo! Well let's make a start, eh? Up and over to glory, last one in Voldemort's camp is a rotten egg.

Malfoy: Give me your hat, lieutenant. (Crabbe hands his hat to Malfoy, who throws it up into the sky. Immediately heavy spell fire is heard. He catches the hat, which now is only a bit of cloth, and gives it back to Crabbe.)

Crabbe: Yes, some sort of clever hat-camouflage might be in order.

Goyle: Permission to speak, Sir.

Malfoy: Granted, with a due sense of exhaustion and dread.

Goyle: I have a cunning plan to get us out of getting killed, Sir.

Malfoy: Ah yes, what is it?

Goyle: Cooking.

Malfoy: I see. (Enters the dugout again.)

Scene 3: Draco Malfoy's Dugout

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Goyle: You know staff HQ is always on the lookout for good cooks? Well, we go over there, we cook 'em something, and get out of the trenches that way.

Malfoy: Goyle, it's a brilliant plan.

Goyle: Is it?

Malfoy: Yes, it's superb.

Goyle: (Delighted.) Permission to write home immediately, Sir, this is the first brilliant plan a Goyle's ever had! For centuries we've tried, and they've always turned out to be total pig-swill. My mother will be as pleased as pumpkin juice.

Malfoy: Hm, if only she were as good-looking as pumpkin juice, Goyle. There is however one slight flaw in the plan.

Goyle: Oh?

Malfoy: You're the worst cook in the entire world.

Goyle: Oh yeah, that's right.

Malfoy: There are amoebas on Saturn who can boil a better egg than you. Your Filet Mignon in sauce Béarnaise look like dragon dung in glue.

Goyle: That's because they are.

Malfoy: Your plum-duff tastes like it's a molehill decorated with owl-droppings.

Goyle: I thought you wouldn't notice.

Malfoy: Your cream custard has the texture of cat's vomit.

Goyle: Again it's...

Malfoy: If you were to serve one of your meals in staff HQ you'd be arrested for the greatest mass poisoning since Hagrid took over cooking for Hogwart's after that damn Granger freed all the house elves. No, we'll have to think of a better plan than that.

Goyle: Right, how about a nice meal, while you chew it over?

Malfoy: (Suspicious.) What's on the menu?

Goyle: Rat. (Shows him a big black rat.) Sauté or fricassee.

Malfoy: (Peers at the rat.) Oh, the agony of choice. Sauté involves...?

Goyle: Well, you take the freshly shaved rat, and you marinate it in a puddle for a while.

Malfoy: Hmm, for how long?

Goyle: Until it's drowned. Then you stretch it out under a lit candle, then you get within dashing distance of the latrine, and then you scoff it right down.

Malfoy: So that's sautéing, and fricasseeing?

Goyle: Exactly the same, just a slightly bigger rat.

Malfoy: Well, call me Old Mr. Un-adventurous but I think I'll give it a miss this once.

Goyle: Fair enough, sir, more for the rest of us. (To Crabbe.) Eh, Sir?

Crabbe: Absolutely, Private. Tally-ho, BARF! BARF!

(The floo connection starts up. Malfoy bends down to talk.)

Malfoy: Hello, the Savoy Grill. Oh, it's you...yes...yes; I'll be over in 40 minutes.

Goyle: Who was it then, Sir?

Malfoy: Strangely enough Goyle, it was the renowned Viktor Krum, inviting me for drinks aboard his yacht "The Saucy Sue", currently wintering in the South of France with the Bulgarian Quidditch team and the Balinese goddess of plenty.

Goyle: Really?

Malfoy: No, not really. I'm ordered to HQ. No doubt that idiot General Fudge is about to offer me some attractive new opportunities to have my brains blown out for the Magical world.

Scene 4: Percy Weasley's Office

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(Captain Percy Weasley is at his desk writing; Malfoy enters.)

Malfoy: What do you want, Weasley?

Weasley: It's Captain Weasley to you. General Fudge wants to see you about a highly important secret mission.

General Cornelius Fudge: (Enters.) What's going on, Weasley?

Weasley: Captain Malfoy to see you, Sir.

Fudge: Ah, excellent. Just a short back and sides today I think, please.

Weasley: Er, that's Corporal Malfis, Sir. Captain Malfoy is here about the other matter, Sir, the (Lowers his voice.) secret matter.

Fudge: Ah, yes, the special mission. At ease, Malfoy. Now, what I'm about to tell you is absolutely tip-top-secret, is that clear?

Malfoy: It is, Sir.

Fudge: Now, I've compiled a list of those with security clearance, have you got it, Weasley?

Weasley: Yes, Sir.

Fudge: Read it please.

Weasley: It's top security, Sir; I think that's all the Captain needs to know.

Fudge: Nonsense! Let's hear the list in full!

Weasley: Very well, Sir.(Reads from paper.)"List of personnel cleared for access, as dictated by General Fudge: You and me, Weasley, obviously. Field Marshal Dumbledore, his girlfriend Minerva McGonagall, his phoenix Fawkes, all Field Marshal Dumbledore's friends, their families, their families' servants, their families' servants' friends, and some chap I bumped into the mess the other day called Bernard."

Fudge: So, it's maximum security, is that clear?

Malfoy: Quite so, Sir, only myself and the rest of the English-speaking world is to know.

Fudge: Good man. Now, Field Marshal Dumbledore has formulated a brilliant new tactical plan to ensure final victory in the field. (They gather around a model of the battlefield.)

Malfoy: Now, would this brilliant plan involve us climbing out of our trenches and walking slowly towards the enemy, Sir?

Weasley: How can you possibly know that Malfoy? It's classified information.

Malfoy: It's the same plan that we used last time, and the seventeen times before that.

Fudge: Exactly! And that is what so brilliant about it! We will catch the watchful Death Eaters totally off guard! Doing precisely what we have done eighteen times before is exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time! There is however one small problem.

Malfoy: That everyone always gets slaughtered the first ten seconds.

Fudge: That's right! And Field Marshal Dumbledore is worried that this may be depressing the men a tadge. So, he's looking to find a way to cheer them up.

Malfoy: Well, his resignation and suicide would seem the obvious solution.

Fudge: Interesting thought. Make a note of it, Weasley! Take a look at this: "Daily Prophet".

Malfoy: Ah, yes, without question my favorite magazine; soft, strong and thoroughly absorbent.

Fudge: Top-hole Malfoy, I thought it would be right up your alley. Now, Field Marshal Dumbledore's plan is this: to commission a man to do an especially stirring painting for the cover of the next issue, so as to really inspire the men for the final push. What I want you to do, Malfoy, is to labor night and day to find a first-rate artist from amongst your men.

Malfoy: Impossible, Sir. I know from long experience that my men have all the artistic talent of a cluster of colorblind hedgehogs... in a bag.

Fudge: Hm, well that's a bit of a blow. We needed a man to leave the trenches immediately.

Malfoy: Leave the trenches?

Fudge: Yes.

Malfoy: Yes, I wonder if you've enjoyed, as I have, Sir, that marvelous painting in the National Portrait Gallery, "Bag Interior", by the colorblind hedgehog workshop of Sienna.

Weasley: I'm sorry, are you saying you can find this man?

Malfoy: I think I can. And might I suggest, Sir, that having left the trenches, it might be a good idea to post our man to Paris (Points on Fudge's map.), in order to soak up a little of the artistic atmosphere. Perhaps even Tahiti (Points.), so as to produce a real masterpiece.

Fudge: Yes, yes, but can you find the man!

Malfoy: Now I know I can, Sir. Before you say "Sunflowers" I'll have Vincent van Gogh standing before you.

Scene 5: In the Trench

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(Malfoy is painting; Crabbe is looking over his shoulder.)

Crabbe: No, don't stop, Sir. It's coming, it's definitely coming. I, hm, yeah, ah, er, hm. I just wonder if two socks and a dung bomb is really the sort of thing that covers of "The Daily Prophet" are made of.

Malfoy: They will be when I've painted them being shoved up Voldemort's backside.

(Crabbe walks over to Goyle.)

Crabbe: Ah, now, now this is interesting.

Malfoy: What is?

Crabbe: Well, Private Goyle is obviously some kind of an impressionist.

Malfoy: The only impression he can do is of a man with no talent. What's it called Goyle? "The Vomiting Cavalier"?

Crabbe: That's not supposed to be vomit; it's dabs of light.

Goyle: No, it's vomit.

Crabbe: Yes, now, er, why did you choose that?

Goyle: You told me to, Sir.

Crabbe: Did I?

Goyle: Yeah, you told me to paint whatever comes from within, so I did my breakfast. Look, there's a little tomato.

Malfoy: Hopeless. If only I'd paid attention in that Hogwart's art-class Dumbledore made us take instead of spending my entire time manufacturing papier-mâché willies to frighten Hannah Abbott.

Crabbe: You know it's funny, but painting was the only thing I was ever any good at.

Malfoy: Well, it's a pity you didn't keep it up.

Crabbe: Well, as a matter of fact I did, actually. I mean (Takes out numerous, well done paintings.) I mean normally I hadn't thought I would show them to anyone, because they're just embarrassing daubs really, but you know, ah, they give me pleasure. I'm embarrassed to show them to you now as it happens, but there you go, for what they're worth. To be honest, I should have my hands cut off, I mean...

Malfoy: Crabbe! These are brilliant! Why didn't you tell us about these before?

Crabbe: Well, you know, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.

Malfoy: You might at least have told us you had a trumpet. These paintings could spell my way out of the trenches.

Crabbe: Yours?

Malfoy: That's right, ours. All you have to do is paint something heroic to appeal to the simple-minded wizard. Over to you, Goyle.

Goyle: How about a noble wizard, standing with a look of horror and disgust over the body of a murdered muggle nun, what's been done over by a nasty old Death Eater.

Malfoy: Brilliant! No time to lose. Crabbe, set up your easel, Goyle and I will pose. This is going to be art's greatest moment since Mona Lisa sat down and told Leonardo da Vinci she was in a slightly odd mood. Goyle, you lie down in the mud and be the nun.

Goyle: I'm not lying down there, it's all wet.

Malfoy: Well, let's put it this way; either you lie down and get wet, or you're knocked down with a curse and get a broken nose.

Goyle: Actually it's not that wet, is it?

Malfoy: No. (Pushes Goyle down.)

Goyle: Who are you going to be then sir? The noble wizard?

Malfoy: Precisely, standing over the body of the ravaged nun.

Goyle: I want a wimple.

Malfoy: You should have gone before we started the picture.

Goyle: You know, the funny thing is, my father was a nun.

Malfoy: (Firmly.) No he wasn't.

Goyle: He was so, Sir. I know, 'cos when he was up in court, and the Minister said "occupation", he said "nun".

(Crabbe enters, dressed in painter's smock and hat, carrying a palette and easel.)

Malfoy: Right. (To Crabbe.) You're ready?

Crabbe: Just about, Sir, yes. Erm, if you'd just like to pop your clothes on the stool.

Malfoy: I'm sorry?

Crabbe: Just pop your clothes on the stool over there.

Malfoy: You mean you want me... tackle out?

Crabbe: Well, I would prefer so, Sir, yes.

Malfoy: If I can remind you of the realities of battle, Crabbe, one of the first things that everyone notices is that all the protagonists have got their clothes on. Neither we, nor the Death Eaters, favor fighting our battles "au naturel".

Crabbe: Sir, it's artistic license. It's willing suspension of disbelief.

Malfoy: Well, I'm not having anyone staring in disbelief at _my_ willie suspension. Now, get on and paint the bloody thing, sharpish!

Scene 6: Draco Malfoy's Dugout

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(Later. The painting is ready.)

Malfoy: Brilliant Crabbe, it's a masterpiece. The wimple suits you Goyle.

Goyle: But it completely covers my face.

Malfoy: Exactly. Now then, General Fudge will be here at any moment. When he arrives, leave the talking to me, all right? I like to keep an informal trench, as you know, but today you must only speak with my express permission, is that clear?

(Crabbe and Goyle are silent.)

Malfoy: (Sharply.) Is that clear?

(Crabbe and Goyle are still silent.)

Malfoy: (With a sigh.) Permission to speak.

Crabbe: Yes, Sir, absolutely.

Goyle: Yes, Sir.

Weasley: (Outside.) Attention! (Entering.) Dugout, attention!

(Fudge enters.)

Fudge: Excellent, at ease. Now then Malfoy, where would you like me to sit? I thought just a simple trim of the moustache today, nothing drastic.

Weasley: We're here about the painting, Sir.

Fudge: Oh, yes, of course. (Seeing Crabbe.) Crabbe, how are you my boy? (Crabbe says nothing.) I said how are you?

Malfoy: Permission to speak.

Crabbe: Absolutely top-hole, Sir, with a ying and a yang and a yippetty-doo.

Fudge: Bravo, now (Moving on to Goyle.) what have we here? Name?

Malfoy: Permission to speak.

Goyle: Goyle, Sir.

Fudge: Ah, tally-ho, yippety-dip, and zing zang spillip. Looking forward to bullying off for the final chukka?

Malfoy: Permission to speak.

(Goyle is silent.)

Malfoy: Answer the General, Goyle.

Goyle: I can't answer him, Sir, I don't know what he's talking about.

Fudge: Haha, are you looking forward to the big push? (Pinches Goyle's cheek.)

Goyle: No, Sir, I'm absolutely terrified. (Pinches Fudge's cheek.)

Fudge: The healthy humor of the honest wizard. (Smacks Goyle's head.) Haha, don't worry, my boy, if you should falter, remember that Captain Weasley and I are behind you.

Malfoy: About thirty-five miles behind you.

Fudge: Right, well stand by your beds. Let's have a look at this artist of yours, Malfoy. Next to me, Weasley.

Weasley: Thank you, Sir. (Sits down next to Fudge.)

Fudge: So, ah, have you found someone?

Malfoy: Yes, Sir, I think I have; none other than young Crabbe here. (Crabbe smiles proudly.)

Fudge: Oh, bravo. Well, let's have a shufti then.

Malfoy: This is called "War". (Shows his own painting. Crabbe looks shocked.)

Fudge: Damn silly title Crabbe. Looks more like a couple of your socks and a piece of dung to me.

Crabbe: Ah, permission to speak, Sir!

Malfoy: Er, I think not actually. (Crabbe's face falls.)

Fudge: Quite right, if what happens when you open your mouth is anything like what happens when you open your paint box, we'd all be drenched in phlegm. Oh no, this isn't what we're looking for at all, is it, Weasley?

Weasley: No, Sir.

Fudge: No, Sir!

Malfoy: There is this, Sir, it's Private Goyle's, (Shows Goyle's painting.) and he's called it "My Family and Other Animals".

Fudge: Oh, Merlin, no.

Malfoy: Well, I'm afraid that's about it, Sir. Apart from...this little thing. (Shows Crabbe's painting.)

Fudge: Ah, now, that's more like it!

Weasley: Who painted this Malfoy?

Malfoy: Well, actually it was me.

Crabbe: Permission to speak, really quite urgently, Sir!

Fudge: Damn and blast your goggly eyes! Will you stop interrupting, Crabbe! Now, this is excellent! (Shakes Malfoy's hand.) Congratulations man! It's totally inspiring; makes you want to jump over the top and yell, "Yah-boo sucks to you, Voldie".

Malfoy: Thank you, Sir.

Weasley: Are you sure you did this, Malfoy?

Malfoy: Of course I'm sure.

Weasley: I'm afraid I don't believe you.

Malfoy: How dare you, Weasley? (To Fudge.) You know I can't let that slur pass, Sir... What possible low, suspicious, slanderous reasons could this "office-boy" have to think that I didn't paint the picture?

Weasley: Well, three reasons as a matter of fact. Firstly: you're in it.

Malfoy: It's a self-portrait.

Weasley: Secondly: you told us you couldn't paint.

Malfoy: Well, one doesn't want to blow one's own trumpet.

Crabbe: Permission...

Malfoy: Denied.

Weasley: And thirdly: its signed "Crabbe".

Malfoy: (Walks over to painting, looks closely at corner.) Well spotted. But not signed "Crabbe", dedicated "to Crabbe", the finest lieutenant I've served with. (Malfoy smirks at Crabbe who glares back.)

Fudge: Bravo, Malfoy, I have absolutely no hesitation in appointing you our official regimental artist. You're a damn fine chap, not a pen-pushing, desk-sucking, blotter-jotter like Weasley here, eh, Weasley?

Weasley: No, Sir.

Fudge: No, Sir! Well, accompany us back to HQ immediately.

Weasley: Attention!

(Fudge and Weasley exit.)

Crabbe: (Very upset.) Permission to jolly well speak right now, Sir, otherwise I might just burst like a bally balloon!

Malfoy: Later, Crabbe. Much later.

Scene 7: Percy Weasley's Office

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Fudge: Congratulations on your new appointment, Malfoy.

Malfoy: Thank you, Sir.

Weasley: And may I say, Malfoy, I'm particularly pleased about it.

Malfoy: Are you?

Weasley: (Smugly.) Oh yes.

Fudge: Now that you are our official war-artist, we can give you the full briefing. The fact is, Malfoy, that the "Daily Prophet" cover story was just a... cover story. We want you, as our top painting bod, to leave the trenches...

Malfoy: Good.

Fudge: Tonight...

Malfoy: Suits me.

Fudge: And go out into no-man's-land.

Malfoy: No-man's-land.

Fudge: Yes.

Malfoy: Not Paris.

Fudge and Weasley: No.

Fudge: We want you to come back with accurate drawings of the enemy positions.

Malfoy: You want me to sit in no-man's-land, painting pictures of the Death Eaters?

Fudge: Precisely! Good man!

Malfoy: Well, it's a very attractive proposition, gentlemen, but unfortunately not practical. You see, my medium is light. It'll be pitch dark; I won't be able to see a thing.

Fudge: Ah, hm, that is a point. I tell you what: we'll send up a couple of light spells. You'll be lit up like a Christmas tree.

Malfoy: Oh, excellent, excellent, glad I checked.

Scene 8: No-Man's Land

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Malfoy: All right, total and utter quiet, do you understand? So for instance if any of us crawl over anything sharp they must on no account goaaAAAAAAAAAAHH!

Goyle: Have you just crawled over something sharp, Sir?

Malfoy: No Goyle, I just put my elbow in a blob of ice cream.

Goyle: Oh, that's all right then.

Malfoy: Now, where the hell are we?

Crabbe: Well, it's difficult to say, we appear to have crawled into an area marked with mushrooms.

Malfoy: (Patiently.) What do those symbols denote?

Crabbe: Um, that we're in a field of mushrooms?

Malfoy: Lieutenant, that is a military map, it is unlikely to list interesting flora and fungi. Look at the key and you'll discover that those mushrooms aren't for picking.

Crabbe: Good Lord, you're quite right, Sir, it says "mine". So, these mushrooms must belong to the man who made the map.

Malfoy: Either that, or we're in the middle of a mine-field. Merlin, mines! Honestly, the one Muggle item Voldemort isn't above using...

Goyle: Oh, dear.

Crabbe: So, wait he owns the field as well?

(Spell fire is heard.)

Crabbe: (Yelling.) THEY'RE FIRING, SIR, THEY'RE FIRING.

(The noise stops.)

Malfoy: Ah, yes, thank you, Lieutenant. If they hit me you'll be sure to point it out, won't you. Now come on, get on with your drawing and let's get out of here.

Crabbe: Well, surely we ought to wait for the light spells, Sir? You see, my medium is light.

Malfoy: Just use your imagination for heavens sake. (Thinks.) Wait a minute, that's the answer. I can't believe I've been so stupid.

Goyle: Yeah, that is unusual, 'cos usually I'm the stupid one.

Crabbe: Well, I'm not over-furnished in the brain department.

Malfoy: Well, on this occasion I've been stupidest of all.

Crabbe: Oh, now, Sir! I will not have that! Goyle and I will always be more stupid than you. Isn't that right Goyle? (Stands up.) Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Goyle: Yeah, (Stands up.) stupidy, stupidy, stupidy.

(Light spells are activated, lighting up Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy cowers on the ground.)

Crabbe: Stupidest stupids in the whole history of stupidityness.

(Spell fire; Goyle and Crabbe jump down; the spells stop.)

Malfoy: Finished? I think the obvious point is this: we'll go straight out to the dugout and do the painting from there. You do the most imaginative, most exciting possible drawing of Death Eater defenses from your imagination.

Crabbe: Oh I see, now that is a challenge.

Malfoy: Quite. Come on; let's get out of here.

Crabbe: Oh, Sir, just one thing. If we should happen to tread on a mine, what do we do?

Malfoy: Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet into the air and scatter yourself over a wide area.

Scene 9: Percy Weasley's Office

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Weasley: Are you sure this is what you saw, Malfoy?

Malfoy: Absolutely. I mean there may have been a few more strongholds, and (Looks sideways at Crabbe.) not quite as many elephants, but...

Fudge: Well, you know what this means...

Weasley: If it's true, Sir, we'll have to cancel the push.

Fudge: Exactly...

Crabbe: Damn!

Malfoy: What a nuisance...

Fudge: ...Exactly what the enemy would expect us to do, and therefore exactly what we shan't do!

Malfoy: Ah.

Fudge: Now, if we attack where the line is strongest, then Voldie will think that our reconnaissance is a total shambles. This will lull him into a sense of false security, and then next week we can attack where the line is actually badly defended. And win the greatest victory since the Beauxbaton flower-arranging team beat Durmstrang by twelve sore bottoms to one!

Malfoy: Tell me, have you ever visited the planet Earth, Sir?

Fudge: So, best fighting trousers on, Malfoy!

Crabbe: Permission to shout "Bravo" at an annoyingly loud volume, Sir?

Fudge: Permission granted.

Crabbe: (Annoyingly loud volume.) BRAVO!

Fudge: That's the spirit. Just your kind of caper, eh, Malfoy?

Malfoy: Oh, yes.

Weasley: (Smirking.) Good luck against those elephants...

(Malfoy and Crabbe salute and leave.)

Scene 10: Draco Malfoy's Dugout

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Malfoy: Get me a chisel and some marble, Goyle.

Crabbe: Oh, you're taking up sculpture now, Sir?

Malfoy: No, I thought I'd get my headstone done.

Crabbe: What are you going to put on it?

Malfoy: "Here lies Draco Malfoy, and he's bloody annoyed."

Goyle: Are we goin' over, are we, Sir?

Malfoy: Yes, we are. Unless I can think of some brilliant plan.

Goyle: Would you like some "rat-au-van" to help you think? (Shows Malfoy a tin plate with a very flat rat on it.)

Malfoy: "Rat-au-van"?

Goyle: Yeah, it's rat that's been...

Malfoy: (Joining in.) ..run over by a van. No, thank you, Goyle. Although it gives me an idea.

Scene 11: Dining Room at Headquarters

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(Fudge and Weasley are dining.)

Weasley: I suppose Malfoy and his boys will have gone over the top by now.

Fudge: Yes. Merlin, I wish I were out there with them, dodging the spells, instead of having to sit here drinking this Chateau Lafitte, eating this Filet Mignon in sauce Béarnaise.

Weasley: My thoughts exactly, Sir. Damn this Chateau Lafitte.

Fudge: He's a very brave man, Malfoy. And of course those boys of his... Slightly unusual taste, this sauce Béarnaise...

Weasley: Yes, Sir, and to be quite frank, these mignon are a little... well...

Fudge: What?

Weasley: Well, dungy.

Fudge: What on earth's wrong with our cook?

Weasley: Well, it's a rather strange story, Sir.

Fudge: Oh? Tell, tell.

Weasley: Well, Sir, I received an owl this afternoon from Viktor Krum, telling me that our cook had been selected for the Bulgarian Quidditch team and must head to Bulgaria at once.

Fudge: Really?

Weasley: Then a moment later, a trio of wandering Italian chefs, who happened to be in the area, arrived, offering their services. So I had the quartermaster take them on at once.

Fudge: (Takes a bite.) Ah, hm, Hm, HM , Ah, Oh, OH! Jumping giblets! Are you sure these are real raisins in this plum duff?

Weasley: Oh yes, I'm sure they are, Sir. Everything will be alright, once the cream custard arrives.

Scene 12: Draco Malfoy's Dugout

--------------------

(Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle enter, wearing cooks' aprons and huge black false moustaches. Goyle is carrying a jug and a small kitten.)

Crabbe: Well all jolly good fun, Sir. But dash it all; we appear to have missed the big push.

Malfoy: Oh damn, so we have. You know, one thing still puzzles me, Goyle; how did you manage to get so much custard out of such a small cat?

THE END


End file.
